Dark Places
by TempestReaching
Summary: War changes people and Harry is stuck in the past. His return to Hogwarts and the public's opinion of him is only making him worse. Discovery of plans concerning lingering Death Eaters springs him to action and brings up things he never expected.
1. Catching Up, Catching Breath

_((AN: So, my first attempt at any sort of HP fanfiction. I've been a fan of reading for a while and this was gnawing at the back of my mind. I always loved the stories of getting over the war and how it mentally affected, so this was my go at it! I hope you can hold on to this slow paced story, cause that's how i like it, with all the slow built up tension. Haha, certainly inspired by all the long classic novels I've been reading for school. _

_Sorry for it being so wordy, Harry's a brooding young lad with far to many thoughts, haha! I'll try to get more dialogue as the story unfolds! Enjoy! ))_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter One<em>

_Catching up, Catching Breath_

War changes people. A simple enough concept to understand, right? Well, I never understood the true depth of such a concept until now. Now that Voldemort's gone, now that Dumbledore's gone, now that I have to see everyone I hoped I never had to see again. I could have been let off without having to return there, could have been shipped right off to begin working for the Ministry. But that would have been too easy, wouldn't it?

The Ministry was eager to receive me. My friends and their families, however, were not quite so eager. Hermione downright thought it an abomination to move on without completing my education. What more was I supposed to learn? How to sit still through a boring lecture when all I had was the urge to move about? How to occupy my mind with something other then my nightmares? I'd learned plenty about magic from being out fighting a war.

The conflict, of course, continued—even months after everything was settled, after everything having to do with the blasted war was to be left behind, forgotten in the past. But, of course, who was going to let me, the wizarding world's savior, forget the great deed I had done? They didn't know anything. The help I had, the resources and knowledge that I lacked. If not for the enormous amount of support I had, not to mention my stupid run of luck, they'd all be dead. Voldemort would have won. They understood so little and I could read that between the lines of the countless numbers of letters I got shortly after everything ended. There were letters of praise and hope as well as those who thought right to tell me they blamed me for not ending it all sooner.

Having to sit though the sheer number of trials and hearings that I had to was torture. Every moment was a reminder of the terror, a pull back into my nightmares that I desperately wanted to escape. I had to do it though. I had to right all those wronged, I ultimately had to do it for Dumbledore.

All I ever talked about was Dumbledore during that time, if I even talked at all. I had managed to seclude myself, even amongst all the activity at the Burrow. Yes, of course, I was living at the Burrow, or what was rebuilt of it, after being destroyed during the war. No one thought me well enough to go off and live by myself. I was honestly surprised I was not forced to go get help, or even sent off to St. Mungo's to be cured of whatever was ailing me. Someone always had a close eye on me- even Ginny, after all my attempts to push her away.

I cared about her, and my friends, which is why I wanted them away from me. They all seemed capable with going on with their lives, even with Fred's death and all the other tragedy surrounding them while I was stuck, quite firmly, in the past. Still thinking everyday about how things could have gone differently, who I could have saved—Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin, and countless others. They could see it in my face and my lack of words, so, naturally, they worried. I just wanted them to finally give up. Which slowly, but surely, they did.

That is until word was out that Hogwarts was finally finished being rebuilt. Hermione would not let up about returning to school. She prattled on and on about how it would prepare me better for this and set me up more for that. She'd convinced Ron to go back, who was just as willing to be received by the Ministry as I was. I eventually was given no choice but to return. They never understood my hesitation about going back, that was, because I didn't want them to. I didn't want to tell them much of anything, really. I mean, I'm sure they could have guessed it was because the horrors that happened there, but it was more deeply rooted then that. I didn't know how to explain it in my head, let alone express it aloud. So, I kept quiet about it and stubbornly allowed my return to Hogwarts.

However, news somehow got out, as it always did, about my return to school, so, of course, most of those that were in my year were prompted to return as well. That was certainly not what I wanted at all. It would be bad enough seeing the building, the portraits, the professors, and the other students I didn't know quite as well. I couldn't imagine being among those I wanted to think of as my equals in the war, but were clearly not seen by every one else as such. Even Ron and Hermione were considered second rate to me. I hardly felt worthy enough to still be walking around let alone being praised at every turn. I did not want that, any of that.

...

I got out of having to walk through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, which undoubtedly would have been twice as crowded with the high hopes I would be there, collecting my supplies for the coming year. The Weasleys were merciful enough to realize I didn't have the strength or will for such an outing, so I finally had a day alone to myself while they and Hermione were out eagerly getting prepared for school. At that point they were pretty much running everything for me. Hermione replied to all the letters I got requesting interviews or autographs, learning my signature better then myself. Molly would feed me just as well as she always did. Ron tried to provide company for the times I would flat out refuse to be around anyone else. It was nice to be alone for a day and not feel like such a burden on everyone else.

For the first hour or so, I simply wandered about the house, enjoying the lack of voices and sounds of activity. I sat at the large kitchen table, eating something I managed to cook for myself. I must say, after not cooking since I lived with the Dursleys, I wasn't too bad at it. Such a simple and innocent thought as that would send my mind off on a tangent, off to dark places that I wish I could block out. The rest of the day, I contemplated obliviating myself, willing to risk ending up how Lockhart did, in the insane ward of St. Mungo's, never to be cured. I even had the thought go through my head to get on my broom, fly up high into the clouds, and pitch myself off. Maybe I did need to be watched at all times, locked away even.

I ended up trying to sleep until they returned. Trying being the key word. For years before the war I was plagued with nightmares and, of course, they only got more vivid and far worse after it. Despite the nightmares I tried to sleep as often as possible, it kept out the dull pain I always felt, it kept my mind from trailing to darker places then my nightmares could put me. I stayed in bed more often as the days grew nearer to the first day back at Hogwarts and everyone could see how much more I became agitated and easily irked at everything. Even Molly was showing signs of being through with me.

...

It was the night before we were to leave. My chest and head ached more then ever at the thought. I swear it was almost as if my scar was burning as it used to. But, of course, it wasn't. I listened, as I always did, to everyone around the kitchen table, talking eagerly about the next morning. Ignoring me and acting as if I wasn't this weight that burdened them. As if I wasn't even there. Good.

Hermione was ready to open a package she got earlier in the day from Hogwarts. She wanted to wait until everyone was around to open it even though all of us were very sure what it was the moment she got it. She ripped open the package carefully, reading the letter as she held between her fingers a small badge. "—and Hogwarts is very happy to welcome you back as Head Girl!" She smiled brightly at everyone as she read the end of the letter aloud proudly.

Ron had called out from across the table at her, reaching his hand out. "Oi, 'Mione, pass it here! I wanna have a look!" And, of course, she passed it to him.

Everyone was congratulating her, smiling, overall happy with what live had given to them despite what they had lost. Everyone except me, though I could tell, even from all the way at the other end of the table, George wasn't as happy as he let on. Actually, there was a lot I had been noticing about George over the summer when I allowed my mind to concentrate on the present. Like how, for example, during every meal he left the seat beside him empty and how he always seemed to turn and look at the seat or to his side unconsciously whenever he had something to say. I don't think anyone else noticed this. They were far too busy being worried about me. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for causing a part of him to die, to die and go practically unnoticed, it seemed. Though glances we made across the table were usually enough to pass what I was thinking to him. I almost wanted to suggest we go pitch ourselves off our brooms together, but I knew he was too strong for that. I heard him talk to Fred in the dark when he thought everyone else was asleep, I heard him say he was going to live life for the both of them, that he just needed time to get used to living twice as full. It just made me feel twice as pathetic and full of ache.

As everyone was getting to bed, Molly passed me on my way to the room Ron and I shared and kissed me on the cheek as always, telling me she already packed my trunk. How did I honestly expect to get through school after being dependent on everyone for such a long time?

Falling asleep was even more difficult that night. Having learned plenty of silencing and protecting charms over the past year and getting better at them over the summer, I didn't risk waking anyone up with the thrashing and yelling that seized me in my sleep. Though even after all that time, it was still startling to wake up with my mouth tasting of blood from biting my tongue or the inside of my cheeks. I didn't think it possible, but the ache I felt was even more powerful then the day before.

Everyone was already awake, knowing it useless to try and wake me before my body was ready. I refused to get up for breakfast, even when Ron had tried to bring it to me—even when he tried to feed me. Though, I knew I couldn't stay here and continue to burden Molly and Arthur. I knew I must eventually move on like everyone else, or at least pretend as if I did.

...

Seeing the Hogwarts express, how was I to even express how I felt? I didn't think it appropriate to cry like Hermione had, I didn't even want to risk breathing in the smoke it let off, for fear of it setting me into some sort of fit. My knees were weak and I could not catch my breath no matter how hard I tried. My friends, of course, were worried for me, but knew better then to attempt to comfort me at the moment. Too many angry outbursts when I was in moods like this for them to want to risk it in private any longer, let alone even think to attempt it in public.

Walking into the train and to the small compartment in which I sat was every bit as agonizing as it was expected to be. I could breathe even less as the air was heavy with the eyes I could feel crawling all over me and with whispering I couldn't hear because of the loud ringing in my ears. I imagined what they must think of me.

'_He looks so tired…'_

'_I wonder if everything they're saying in the Daily Prophet is true…'_

'_There he goes, our savior…'_

I would have much rather preferred animosity directed at me then the wonder and praise I got. Everything grew ever worse as dread spread though me when I saw my old dormmates shuffling in front of me to find a seat in the train. Flashes of dead or nearly dead faces passed before my eyes, of old friends that I never wanted to see or think about again. I know they noticed me, as everyone always did, but I was thankful that they didn't acknowledge me because I had the feeling that I would have lost it then and there if they had.

But, of course, nothing can be simple for me. It had to be something far worse then friendly acknowledgement. Beyond all the ringing in the train, which came from my own head, I heard a scoff. Loud, obnoxious, nearly made me faint right there. I wished I hadn't turned my head and I wished my friends were not too late in pulling me into the small compartment. I wished it wasn't too late, but it was; my mind was already sent reeling into the abyss of the past. Suddenly, I was there at the Astronomy tower, I could still feel the chill to my bones as if I were reliving it at that very moment. Again, suddenly, I was swollen, on the floor of a large, dark, and foreboding room. I hadn't realized anything going on around me, so next I knew I was staring out the window of the train, the sky bright and mocking of my mindset. My thoughts flit immediately from present to past again, to the three trials I had absolutely refused to attend in person and the one I refused to be involved in whatsoever.

Hermione's insistent voice knew how to break itself through my mental fog that tended to block out all else. "Harry! Harry, look at me!"

I snapped my gaze towards her. Something in my eyes was probably too harsh, my mind being in it's darkened place, as she had flinched back, giving me those pleading eyes as if she knew any of the things that went on in my head.

"Harry, please-" she had cut herself off as she always did whenever she felt it was useless trying to talk to me any more. She had been giving up faster and more often as time passed. I knew they just couldn't wait to get me off their hands to bother someone else.

The rest of the train ride my mind and body became even more restless. I ached and cramped, but I could not risk taking even a step outside the compartment, I didn't want to even risk standing to try to stretch because something beyond my control would inevitably happen to spiral everything even further out of my control. Though it's not like I even knew what control ever was. Everything had always been out of my control, out of my realm of understanding; which, of course, would bring my mind to think about the ever so secretive Dumbledore.

My thoughts delved back to their favorite dark places.


	2. Inflections of Voice and View

_((AN: So here we have the second chapter, about twice as long in length too! I already had about half of this written when I posted the first chapter, so it may be quite a while until I get the third chapter rolling along. If you notice any mistakes or flaws, or anything that doesn't make sense, please, point them out! I'd love some reviews on this! I want to know what people think!_

_I tried adding in a bit more dialogue at the end there and I'm also astonished at my great chapter titles I've been coming up with, haha! Enjoy! ))_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Two<em>

_Inflections of Voice and View_

As expected, I couldn't handle it. I got ill before I even walked though the front gates, and then again before I got into the Great Hall. I had shattered everyone's perception of me being that strong soldier coming back from the front lines of war, of someone they expected to be most ready to move on from the tragedy of said war. I was utterly pathetic, and there wasn't a thing I could do as I was taken out of Great Hall by Madam Pomfrey mid introductory speech. I would have been embarrassed if I had the strength. It was just what I didn't want, a spectacle to be made out of me, for everyone to see.

The judgment I felt as I was taken out of the Hall was nothing I ever experienced before. It was filled with pitied whispers and worried looks not just from my closer friends, but everyone. Again, I imagined what they must think.

'_What's wrong with him…?'_

'_How did we even look up to someone like that…?'_

'_I wonder if he will be okay...'_

I had not wanted that at all. To be treated so differently. I had not heard any mockery or felt any glares come my way as I would have in the past from a majority of the school, only soft eyes and even softer words. Though, one nearly silent whisper crawled into my ears, into my head like some terrible demon, '_Bloody attention seeker.'_

I wondered who it was that still kept their old opinion of me. Or if it was a new perspective they took, I gladly welcomed it. I knew this would have happened, it was completely expected and I did nothing to try to stop it. So, I guess I was an attention seeker despite how terribly I told myself otherwise. Maybe it was just a cry for help, but that, I knew, would not come because everyone had given up on me a long time ago. And help was not trying to coddle me or look at me as some pitiful, broken person.

...

Adjustment to Hogwarts was every bit at terrible as I thought it would have been and my ability, or want, to care for myself was even worse then I expected. The thoughts of pitching myself off my broom still persisted in the back of my mind amongst the other darkness there. The anger hiding behind my tired, broken exterior showed itself more often as I continued to be coddled by my teachers and peers. More then a month into the school year and I had not done one single assignment, not been given one single detention, or had even a single point taken away from me. I could not stand it and hoped that acting out would put me back inside the normal realm of human existence. Of course, it did just the opposite.

Every night, I laid in bed with the curtain drawn around me to hide my violent trembling and my midnight thrashing from my old dormmates. The only time I ever used my wand was to secure those silencing charms so as not to disturb their sleep. They had their fair share of nightmares, that's for sure, but nothing compared to mine. I was thankful for the bed curtains as I began waking up not only with my mouth tasting of blood, but my pillow covered in it as well. If I had the energy to try and joke, I'd ask Hermione for her parents to mail me in one of those mouth guards from their dentist office.

...

The first Quidditch match of the year was soon approaching. I had not gone to a single practice as Captain of the team as I had somehow managed to get Ron to convince Ginny to fill in my position for the time being. I was debating heavily in my mind whether it was even safe for me to get on my broom. What if the urge took me over, then and there, and I pitched myself off during the game—maybe even right in the middle of the field. How's that for attention seeker?

Despite my hesitation, there I stood, in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, right beside Ginny as if nothing had ever changed. All the others on the team still talked and shoved each other around with pre-game nervousness, as they always had. I expected her to continue to ignore me as everyone else did since the beginning of term, but she looked at me. Not with the same pleading eyes as Hermione always did, but with those Weasley eyes, with that Weasley strength I was always surrounded with. I had hoped, but given up long ago, that if I just looked back into those eyes and gotten lost in them that I myself would eventually be filled with strength again. Right now, it just made me feel emptier.

"I know we'll do great today, Harry." Her voice and small, forced smile echoed though my empty shell, nearly drowned out by the combination of the cheering crowd as well as the buzzing that still filled my head when I was too overwhelmed.

She had seen the pitch burn down just as I had; she had spent just as many memories playing here as I did. So why was she not as bothered to be here as I was now? Maybe because this was my first time stepping onto the new field this year, but even if I had gone to every practice I know I would feel the same as I did now.

...

I felt as if my chest was going to rip open and as if my head was going to split at my scar as I flew through the air. It was terrifying. Flashes of flying between killing curses, or Hedwig's cage falling to the ground came though my mind. As I flew between the stands I could feel heat come off of them as if they were still in flames. Then, memories of another fiery scene flooded my head, made worse by the man flying beside me, chasing after the same goal as me, escape—no, the present, the snitch; I was still in the middle of a Quidditch match.

Why was he even here? The last thing I expected was his return. Wasn't it dangerous? Didn't everyone wish for his death as readily as they wished his father's? I hadn't wanted to know at the time; I didn't want any involvement in his trial because I may have done something beyond my control, something Dumbledore did not want me to do to him. The questions rattled in my head as the man on the other broom smashed into me, and, as if by instinct, I hit him back just as hard—right into the side of one of the stands as I swerved hard, lunging and ending the game right there.

I was surprised, but everyone else was more so— because I had actually gotten on a broom, because I had actually caught the snitch, and because I actually mustered up the strength to shove someone into the stands. I hoped I would have gotten some sort of penalty for that, but, of course, it didn't happen. I just watched as the man was taken off the field, blood covering his face and chest as the teams lowered to the ground. I felt the pain in my chest and head subside for just a brief moment, filled with a flicker of satisfaction for what I had done to him. Dumbledore would have been so disappointed in me.

...

The owls flooded into the Great Hall over breakfast. The first breakfast I was able to sit through this year, although I hadn't taken a single bite from the ever filling plates. Everyone talked as bright and cheerful as they ever did, as if nothing ever happened. How were they all so able to move past it? They weren't as drawn into the core of it as I was, but how could they not see the darkness, the shattered windows, and not hear the Death Eaters loud footsteps echoing though? How could they not feel the rumbling of flames or hear the crumbling of the walls or incantations spit from enemy's mouths? It seemed almost as if it never happened and was just something that happened it my mind, as if it only haunted me.

And it only ever got worse. _**The Boy Who Lived, the Next Dark Lord Lurking**;_ the title of the front page article in the Daily Prophet. It's what thousands of students opened up and read that morning. It's what caused the air to grow heavy with eyes and whispering again. So, they've caught on to the darkness in my mind? I never would have jumped to such conclusions as they did, though it was certainly creative. Maybe it would bring me back to how I felt I should have been treated—maybe even bring me lower.

I noticed the scrape of Ron's plate as he shoved it away. It must have really bothered him. Hermione grabbed my attention by shoving the paper in front of me, her voice insistent on breaking through to me again. "This is horrendous! How could they—no, how _dare_ they!"

I just stared down at the moving, flashing picture of the front article as my mind flashed to all those times I was possessed by Voldemort. Was that what I looked like? My eyes gleaming as his did, as I writhed and fought for control? It was no wonder why my friends would hardly look at me.

Hermione continued her ranting as Ron grumbled beside her, "After everything you've been though, mate, and they start spewin' off crap like this? Bloody leeches, I swear…"

Tired of looking at my own, face I flipped though the paper, which was still littered with as much talk about the war possible. Why did they write and jab me with painful reminders every chance they got, while they continued on as if it didn't affect them?

Apparently my frustration was visible as Hermione yanked the paper away from me, folding it up again. "I'm just glad the school is monitoring your mail, Harry, else we'd be stormed right now."

So that's why I had not gotten any mail. It made me wonder if she'd been doing all my homework for me, or if Ron'd been taking all my detentions. Why would they try so hard for me? I mean, it's not like I'd been reciprocating anything back. If anything, I'd been downright nasty towards them the majority of the time, that is, if I had the energy for it.

I looked up from my plate and my friends to a spot at the other end of the Great Hall that, I realized, was my favorite spot to look at. The seat was empty, as expected, and I was again flicked with a small bit of satisfaction which I had to hold back from showing up on my face. I never felt so pleased with myself for hurting anyone, and something inside of me certainly wanted to feel it more. Is that a sign of a monster? Did I possess something within me that could make me worse then Voldemort himself? I certainly had the knowledge he had, more support and more power over the Ministry then he ever dreamed, so what was stopping me? Apparently that was just what the Prophet wondered. And soon, what almost everyone else wondered too.

Though, of course, it didn't end up how I wanted. Most people did not look down upon me as I wished they would, but feared me.

...

Life continued for everyone else, as it should have. Some avoided me, some still looked upon me with wonderment; I even noticed how my friends were acting differently around me. Small things, it was always small things. Small things which I learned to be able to pin point after many long hours sitting in silence with nothing to do but listen to everything going on around me. We were sitting around the fireplace in the common room; Hermione doing some paperwork for her Head Girl duties, Ron scratching up an essay for Charms, and me, just sitting and staring into the fire, as always. They never had bothered me to try to do anything, knowing it futile or maybe just tired of trying to get through to me.

Ron, however, looked up from his parchment at me, with those damned Weasley eyes, with far too much of that characteristic Gryffindor strength then was good, wanting to try to push me again. "Hey, mate, maybe you should, you know, try to work on this essay too. It's easy as hell."

Hermione looked just as surprised as I felt. Why would he even try to ask me that? Why risk me blowing up at him about how I didn't even want to come back here and how he didn't understand anything about I feel? Actually, maybe that's precisely what he wanted. I never talked to them unless I was screaming or throwing things, maybe he just wanted me to talk. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to ask me why I was doing what I was. How would I answer that? Why was I? I mean, it's not like I would tell him I wanted to throw myself off my broom. But there's that million galleon question. Why did I want to? I'd rather my mind retreat to its dark hole then to think of the 'whys'. So, I just walked out of the common room without a word.

...

So, I occupied myself the best I possibly could from said 'whys'. I spent endless hours at the shore of the lake, looking out and having fourth year memories flood my whole being. The year everything changed, when Voldemort came back, when Cedric died. I really wished I could have saved him. The screams of his father upon seeing him were almost as haunting as his blank eyes that looked up at me as we were brought back to the ignorant crowds. I wished he hadn't died because of me. I wished no one had died because of me.

Looking out across the lake, I could feel the water as it rushed around me; I could hear the merpeople speaking as if they were whispering right into my ears, I could—"Harry Potter?"

I spun around fast, from my curled up position beside a tree. I nearly kinked my neck as I looked up to the airy, familiar voice. My voice croaked in reply, unused for too long it seemed, "Luna?" More words unable to come to me, I just looked at her, slack-jawed.

She gave me a small smile, resting her eyes on me in a way I hadn't been looked at in a long time. Free of any worry, any judgment; she always seemed lost in her own world and her eyes portrayed the trueness of that. My mind spiraled to her father, to her home which was destroyed just as the Weasley's, I wished I could tell her just how sorry I was for all that, I wished—"A beautiful evening isn't it? I was _just_ about to go on a walk in the forest. Would you like to join me?"

I didn't know quite what to say. I wanted some sort of non-intrusive company, and I had completely forgotten that I could always find that in Luna. Though her completely dismissive nature irked something deep within me I didn't want to think about. 'Attention seeker' echoed in my mind as I reached for her recently outstretched hand and stood up. Though looking out for invisible insects crawling around on the ground was far less comforting then I remembered it being, so when she walked ahead of me as she was talking, I left her. I was sure she ever even noticed. Whether it was that I joined her in the first place or left her, I'd never be sure.

...

Storming though empty corridors, for it nearly hurt to have to sit still though all my classes, is what I spent the other bulk of my time doing. I would even walk right out of class, with no repercussions, and walked as I pleased. I forgot, however, there was another at Hogwarts who also did as they pleased and I inevitably crossed his path and he mine every so often. We never looked at each other; we never bumped or even tried to throw insult. There went the last bit of hope I had that there was at least one person in the world who would treat me normally. Though my curiosity grew as to why the hell he even agreed to come back—his mother perhaps? Such simple a thought, and again, I lost my mind to its inner darkness.

So terribly, in fact, I was forced to stop walking and lean myself against the wall, cradling my newly forming and splitting headache. Dead. I could smell the floor of the forest as if I were laying there at that moment. Some sort of ethereal experience recently left behind; I could feel the pricking of twigs underneath me. Hearing the sounds of hushed, but excited, whispering and the low hiss from the creature always at the heel of the not-man that had killed me, for lack of a better word, I stayed still, I hardly dared to breathe. Her hair brushed over my face and she spoke words I barely understood. Nothing like a mother's love, which, of course, led to the next onslaught my mind could dish out to me.

Beginning to hear the screams of my own mother echo though the corridors, my knees decided it turn to give out, leaving me for the floor to deal with. The coldness of the stone reminded me of the dementors, Lupin, then Sirius, and again my mind's vicious cycle took me up in arms of the abyss of darkness. That was, until I heard that insistent pleading voice rip though the veil on my mind and could feel the vibration of footsteps on the floor, pulling me back to the present in which I was curled up pathetically on the floor in the corner of a very dark corridor.

Setting her lit up wand on the ground, she kneeled beside me. She rested one hand on my shoulder, and her other on my face, turning me to look at her. "Harry? Harry! Are you alright? How long have you been here! Oh my goodness, Harry…" She sounded as if she was ready to cry.

I could only groan in acknowledgement of her presence. My aching and cramping left me too tense to try to move without pain shooting though every part of me, so I allowed Hermione to sit me up as I clenched my jaw tighter, feeling the skin snapped between my teeth. How much time had passed? Apparently it was nighttime, where it seemed a moment earlier to be mid-day. Why was she out at this hour then?

Her voice, tremulous and pained, rang through me. "Oh, Harry, you're so lucky I was on duty tonight—" That's right, she's Head Girl. "—Harry! Oh, you're bleeding! We need to get you to Pomfrey right away—" Hermione, the bleeding's nothing new. She leaned over and held me close as my body gradually relaxed. When was the last time I had been hugged? By Molly even?

...

Out of the entire expanse that was Hogwarts, the Hospital Wing was where I hated being most. The beds were uncomfortable, the people were obnoxious in their attempts to get out of class with any minor sniff or scuff, and it just brought me back to the darkness of the night it all ended. Fred, Lupin, Tonks all spread on the floor among countless others on stretchers, all dead. Cold dead and all because of me, because they thought they were willing to risk it all for me. A thought struck me as I lay under the too thin sheets. Had Lavender made it? I heard she was attacked but never beyond that. Thoughts of one person or another person rang though my head; most I realized I hadn't seen so far during the year. Oh, I sure hoped they'd just not come back.

I felt a hand squeeze my left one gently and I opened my eyes. I shut them immediately for it was far too bright and everything was blurred beyond recognition anyways. Sounds and voices were always clear when my mind was on the present, though. With my eye movement, that ever familiar, insistent, and desperate sounding voice was heard "Is he awake? Harry? Oh, Ron, he was in fits last night, it was awful."

Why the sudden care? They never were too worried about it before. Oh, wait, I had been avoiding them and hiding that I was getting worse. They were none the wiser about my downward spiral. I didn't find it particularly important to clue them in.

I heard footsteps and more whispering as another soft hand took my free right one. "I thought you said he was doing better?" Why would anyone lie like that?

"Gin, I told you I didn't know how he was doing. He never talks to any of us." So I was right about why Ron was trying to push me.

The first hand removed itself from mine. "Shut it, both of you! It's not as if he can't hear, you know." True, Hermione, I could hear every word.

Quiet introspection, even if it were to the dark places in my mind, led to a sort of heightening of senses, one could say; not having to bother with trying to come up with anything to say made me notice things I never did previously. The first being Ron and Hermione's crumbling relationship. It made me feel like a child caught between divorcing parents, feeling at fault for the split. Only difference was, that in most of those cases it's not the child's fault, wherein my case, it most certainly was my fault. At first it just seemed like the normal bickering between them, as I was accustomed to, but as I grew more to my seclusion I noticed the very subtle inflections of voice that seemed nearly volatile. I noticed that the mild irritation always in their eyes turned sharp whenever they argued and just weary for all the times they tried not to. I knew it was my fault because all the times I noticed them get worse was when the arguments centered on me.

'_Why are you spending so much time with him?'_

'_He's my friend too, Ronald! I'm just worried for him, you know that!'_

'_What, and you think I'm not worried, 'Mione? Gods, seeing him like this every day is killing me!'_

'_You're not the only one, you know!__ It's hurting me and everyone else too!'_

Of course, such arguing was usually done as far from me as possible, as far as they knew. Since I had grown more adept at silencing charms, wandering around the Burrow at night had become more manageable without having to worry about disturbing anyone or being disturbed. I wished I learned how to silence my steps when I was younger, certainly would have helped for maneuvering around corridors late at night when under my cloak. Once again, I slipped under the dark veil.

It apparently showed on my face and I was quickly freed from it by some jostling and hushed voices urging me to wake. I groaned and tried opening my eyes again. The light still stung terribly, but was soon blocked by red hair as Ginny leaned over to kiss my forehead and brush my hair aside, which sent an almost burning sensation though my scar and down my spine. I wished she didn't do that so often.

Ginny leaned up after a moment, and sat beside me on my right, facing me and still holding my hand tightly. Ron and Hermione stood on the other side of the bed, standing not as close as they would have not too long ago. They must have been arguing again.

"All of us were worried sick, Harry. And here I though you'd gained some will power back after what happened at the game—"

Even with my blurred vision I could tell the way Hermione was glaring at Ginny as she interrupted her. "Ginny, don't bring that up, that was a terrible sight."

Ron then chimed in, "But, 'Mione, you gotta admit—"

Hermione deadpanned. "No."

What the hell was going on? Not caring all that much, I had turned from their conversation to the bedside table on my left to try and seek out my glasses. I reached my free hand out to feel around for them, but Hermione, knowing my need without even having to glance at me, reached over, snatched them up, and put them on my face for me. It bothered me more then it should have and, without thinking, I batted her hand away as it lingered by my face.

I found it unnecessary that she and Ginny gasped as if I had struck her or something. Ginny then gripped my hand tighter and Hermione's voice rose as I looked away from her. "Harry! What—?"

I then looked up at her again, my voice sounded raspy and tired. "I'm not some incapable child, Hermione."

She furrowed her eyebrows at me as if she didn't understand what I was saying. Her voice trembled, "Maybe I would believe that it you put forth some effort to not act like it!"

Ron gave her a sympathetic look and reached for her hand, only to be swatted away as Hermione stormed away from the bed and out the doors of the Hospital Wing, swiping at her eyes. Ron's eyes flit between me and the door a few times before he muttered a hurried_ 'Goodbye'_ and rushed on out the door as well. I did not want to be left alone with Ginny.

"Harry."

Her voice, once soothing, only put me on edge as I tried to bring my eyes to hers, those Weasley eyes; always testing me, wanting me to do well, and striving for me to get better. Of what, I was not too sure.

"No one's mad at you, Harry." At least she hadn't said the _'we're just worried'_ part. "I miss you, I really do. If nothing else, I just want to have a conversation with you. No arguing, no bringing up the past, none of it. Just talk."

I looked away from her, rubbing at the edge of the rough blanket with my free hand. How did she expect me to talk when nearly every thought of mine centered on the past? She squeezed my hand again. I sighed and, after what seemed like too long a moment, decided to look at her again, nodding, but just barely. Damn those testing Weasley eyes, hers of which brightened at my agreement.

She tried to hide her smile, but I could see it clearly in her eyes. "Please, Harry, say that you will?" Wasn't it enough that I agreed? Why push me any further? "Please? So I know you mean it."

I could barely utter a _'fine'_ before she wrapped me in a careful hug, grazing a light kiss on my cheek. Whatever day we agreed on for said talk was one I was not looking forward to. She needed to move on, though I wasn't really one to talk. She at least had hope for a happy future it seemed and didn't need me dragging her down.

Dragging, like the countless inferi in the chilled water at that damned cave. Me drowning, Dumbledore dying—

She whispered in my ear, clearing my head far less intrusively then Hermione or Luna had before. "Harry, shush, everything's okay. You're here, not there. Here, it's safe." She didn't even know where 'there' was, but I felt my body relax when I hadn't realized I'd tensed. That was probably what gave my drifting mind away.

She sat back up, giving my forehead another kiss and sending another pseudo-pain shooting down my spine. Madam Pomfrey had walked back over from tending to other patients to shoo Ginny away so I could get more rest. She stood, waiting a moment before reluctantly releasing my hand and leaving out the doors of the Hospital Wing, giving me a quick glance as she walked away.

I closed my eyes, quickly sinking back into the dark depths of sleep.


	3. Beyond Control

_((AN: So, with a burst of inspiration from the Part Two soundtrack, I was able to finish this up! I hope this chapter hold up in comparison to the other two. Also, more dialogue. It may take quite a bit longer to get chapter four out, but it'll be worth the wait! _

_Reviews would be loved! I wanna know what you guys think of the story!_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Three<em>

_Beyond Control_

The next time I opened my eyes, it was considerably less bright. After reaching for and putting on my glasses, I realized it was because the thin curtains around each bed in the Hospital Wing for privacy were drawn shut around me. Who closed them for me? How long had I been asleep? Suddenly, the shock of a bitter tasting something struck my mouth. It wasn't blood, so perhaps some sort of lingering potion. I must have had nightmares and had been bothering other students; Madam Pomfrey probably wanted to spare them the sight of my thrashing by closing the bed curtains as well.

As my mind came back to the present and I sat up, I heard a soft clink from my right and turned abruptly. At the bedside table beside me was a tall boy with short blondish hair, he seemed younger and…Ravenclaw? Who was that? I didn't even know any younger Ravenclaws. As I opened my mouth to try and speak, he glanced over his shoulder, fumbling with a pair of small vials of potion. Was he the one who gave me the potion? What the hell was going on?

He turned slightly, his voice carrying a touch of airiness to it, much like Luna, perhaps a trait I overlooked with other Ravenclaws. "Ah, don't be startled. I'm simply going around refilling potion vials for Pomfrey."

I stared on, still not really understanding. Why was he refilling potions? He continued, seeing my confusion. "I volunteer to help her sometimes. I want to be a medi-wizard, you see."

I just barely nodded. No one, to my knowledge, had ever thought to volunteer to do any sort of work here at Hogwarts. They were far too busy with school work, detention, or romantic pursuits. The younger year students must have become suddenly more innovative. Not that he seemed to be too young, though young enough to not have been in the grips of the war. My mind nearly slipped again as he spoke.

"I'm poring out some dreamless sleep potion for you right now. Pomfrey suggests you to take it every night." He turned from the bedside table, abandoning the handful of vials, just looking at me, as if awaiting my reply.

He tilted his head a bit, "You don't talk much do you?" And he certainly seemed a loquacious one. Though he bordered on the irritating there was the hint of something in him that, yet again, reminded me of Luna, which ultimately ebbed my irritation. They did share some same qualities as far as I could tell; maybe an inane sense of comfort came with being around Ravenclaws. Hell, I didn't know him, but I strangely felt more at ease with the stranger then I had with any of my friends for a very long time.

A welcomed change, but it also made me feel guilty. I had been casting my closest friends aside and finding myself increasingly irate when dealing with an ex that desperately wanted to be with me again. And there I was listening to a stranger prattle away about useless things, but at the same time things that were not complexly dismissive of my supposedly odd behavior.

Another thought struck me and I was fuming in an instant. I spoke without even thinking, and my voice cracked. "I'm not signing any sort of autograph for you."

He just tilted his head a bit the other way, seeming to think over what I had said. "While I've got plenty of friends that may want that…no, thank you, Potter."

I felt my face actually heat up at that. I felt stupid, coming off as more of an egocentric attention seeker, thinking everyone just wanted my damn signature. I balled by fists into my blankets in frustration at myself. He just turned back to the vials, finishing filling them up and placing them all together. He then turned, walked to the end of the bed, and pulled the bed curtains open slowly.

As he pulled them aside, I realized how many more people were in the Wing then I ever remembered there being at a given time besides the terrible night everything ended. I leaned back against the pillows and headboard, looking around curiously. Turning his head towards me, he walked back towards the bedside table again. He lowered his gaze back to the vials.

His voice dropped its airy carelessness and it nearly startled me, but I had to remind myself that I didn't know him and didn't know how he acted. "A lot of students have been going around hurting each other. Resentment for what happened, you see."

That's right. I'd been so caught up in my own bubble of the past, I'd forgotten about the bouts of violence erupting around the school between the houses, most namely between Gryffindor and Slytherin. As I looked around I saw a few Slytherins which I did, in fact, recognize.

He spoke up again, moving his hands over other vials on the table, keeping his hands occupied, I'm sure. "The whole stunt at the Slytherin game didn't help too much either. Sort of encouraged people, if you understand."

Of course I understood. I hadn't been doing my expected part to help ease tension between the houses, that's for sure. That game was doomed from the beginning to turn out badly with names shot from both sides and a penalty being called against Slytherin before the game even started. I'm sure my 'attack' on the other seeker only spurred things along further.

"All term it has been packed with Slytherins and Ravenclaws; even some Hufflepuffs, because of attacks." I saw as a bitter smile crossed his face as he turned away; it was strange and honestly left me feeling at ill ease. "At least I'm getting plenty of practice."

Before he walked away from the bed, seemingly lost among his own thoughts, he had made some side comment about Pomfrey saying I could leave. Of course, I jumped up and left with my bundle of potions as soon as I could.

...

Barely a few days later, and I was sitting at a too small table out in front of a too crowded tea shop in Hogsmeade, whatever the name of it was, across from Ginny. Our knees brushed under the small table and her hands rested on top of the table between us, while mine rested on my lap. Why had I even agreed to this? I should have put it off for another day, I was in no mood to deal with her.

I had been sleeping even worse, and refused to take the damned vials of dreamless sleep Pomfrey—or rather, that boy—had given to me. I was never a fan of assisted sleeping before, but waking up feeling like I was paralyzed and feeling stiff and confused for hours afterwards only solidified my ill feelings towards taking the potions.

In my sleep depraved state, I had decided on taking out all my present bodily irritation by glaring at Ginny as she sat there, looking at me as if she was waiting for me to say or do something. It bothered me to no end, and I knew that the outing was going to end up an unmitigated disaster. Not too long later, a short, stodgy old woman brought tea that Gin had ordered for the both of us. The tense silence drew out as she sipped the cup silently and I continued to stare at her, not daring to touch my cup.

"Thank you for coming out here, Harry. I know it's getting cold and you don't like it, but it's nice to see you out of the castle." She smiled softly, either not noticing to refusing to notice the way I stared at her. She lowered her eyes to the cup, frowning.

"I'd really like to not feel as if I were talking to myself, you know." She took a tentative sip of her tea, looking at me again awaiting reply.

I could tell she was getting impatient and irate. The Weasley temper was something to be counted on and I just hoped it would end this outing before I had to engage. She sighed, setting her cup down, boring into me with those eyes that I'd slowly grown to dislike. "Honestly, Harry, how do you expect anyone to try and help you if you don't let them?"

"I don't need help."

I liked to think it was the fact I actually spoke that startled her rather then how quickly and loudly I had said that, not to mention the harshness of tone I used.

Despite her startle, she kept her strength. I wondered if she conspired with Hermione before coming here in order to try to get through to me. "Something is clearly wrong, Harry. We let you stew about in it over summer, but clearly that was the wrong thing to do. Everyone wants you back; we don't like seeing you like th—"

"Do you think I_ like_ being like this?" I had gotten tired of those same things being repeated to me over and over and over again without my saying anything, I couldn't help but snap.

She took a deep breath, maybe excited she seemed to be making progress with me. Was she never there to see my outbursts? Ron and Hermione acted the same way at first to when I started snapping back, but they soon realized it was nothing to be too happy about. Maybe she was just preparing herself for the impending outburst.

"Of course I don't think that, Harry. I—everyone just wants to see you happy again. I want to be able to coach along side you in Quidditch and to just spend time with you like we used to, I want you back!"

"I told you, I'm not ready for that again." I looked down at the small cup in front of me, trying hard to find the right words to explain the confusion I had been feeling. "I'm sorry I'm not the same person I was…" Not exactly what I was going for, but it was good enough.

She sighed, lowering her head as well. "Harry, I've been trying to be so patient with you. I understand how hard—" She stopped and looked up at me as I stood up, shaking the table as I bumped it, walking past her.

I absolutely could not deal with that. No one knew. No one had the right to say they knew how hard it was for me. I heard her call out for me and heard her footsteps pace behind me as I continued to storm away, back to the castle. She let me walk until we were out of the crowds so as not to make a scene.

"Harry! You said you'd stay with me!" Her voice had taken on a desperate tone I'd not heard since the night of the war as she yelled.

I raised my voice as well, emotion bubbling up within me, threatening to release. "I said we'd see! I can't do this! Gin—" I felt my voice crack. No, I refused to cry. As I stormed past a tree I slammed my fist into it, releasing some of my pent up emotion. Ginny had run up behind me, hugging me from behind, wrapping her arms around my waist, her grip tight and unwilling to let me go. "Ginny—"

"No! No, Harry, no!" She nuzzled her face into the back of my robes. "You can't just push everyone away; I refuse to let you be alone! You need us, Harry. I need you!"

I tried in vain to struggle from her arms, my breathing ragged, nearly sounding like sobs. "Ginny—let me go! I've changed—damnit, I'm not right for you anymore, I'm not the same—you need someone who's not so—so—"

"Harry, please, no! I love you, Harry, you can't do this to me, damn you! I've been so patient, I can't stand it!" I could feel as her body began to tremble against mine.

My voice grew weak and weary; I couldn't let her waste the rest of her life, the rest of her happiness for me, just so she could try to repair something far too broken inside of me to have the life she thought she was supposed to have. "You deserve so much better, Gin. I'm so empty inside, I can't…I'm so sorry." I meant those words, I was so sorry I couldn't give her the life that had seemed so definite and solid before. I was so sorry I couldn't be the one to give her happiness anymore. I was so sorry I hadn't just stayed dead.

Maybe that was the connection to my behavior. The part of Riddle that had stuck itself to my soul took something with it when it died. Maybe a part of me really was dead. Maybe I was really unable to feel happy or love again. Ironic considering what it took to kill the not-man in the first place.

In my slip, the only thing that kept me from crumpling to the muddy ground was Ginny, still holding onto me as if I was where she drew her breath from. Why was she so desperate to keep me? It's not as if she couldn't get anyone else, being as strong and beautiful as she was. She deserved so much better then me, just a remnant of who I was before. How could it work between us when I felt we didn't know who the other was any more? I wasn't willing to ruin her by trying to reconnect. She just needed to move on because I knew I couldn't.

I rested my hands over hers. I couldn't bear to hurt her; I couldn't just leave her like she was. I closed my eyes, taking in a long breath as I moved my hands over hers, and then hooked my thumbs between her hands and myself to pry her off. "Ginny, you deserve someone who can make you happy. I won't push you away if you promise to go on and be happy. Be with someone else, because I can't…I just can't do this, Ginny."

She gripped my hands tightly, as I turned around to face her. "Damn it, Harry, no! You can do this, you're strong!"

"No…I'm not, Gin." I tried to grip back, but her tight hold on me combined with the pain from punching the tree, I couldn't. "Maybe in the future, but not now, it's far too soon. I need more time to cope."

That seemed to please her as she released my hands and slid her arms around me again in a warm embrace, leaning her head against my chest which throbbed. I rested my arms on her back, and I felt a heaviness form in my throat. I hadn't completely ended it, meaning the issue would eventually surface up again. But, then again, what if I eventually came around, patched up and ready to be a part of her life again? Ready to be filled with her strength, determination, and patience which I'd left behind in the forest?

For once my unfathomable anger was simply quieted with an overwhelming feeling of tiredness, accompanied with familiar ache.

...

Heavy, dressed in my Quidditch gear, I stepped onto the empty pitch, Ginny trailing behind me. I looked around at the empty stands, listening and feeling the icy wind rip through me. It was harder to be there with it empty then when it filled with people at the game. I shuddered violently, not just from the cold wind, but a coldness which seeped into my mind. I pictured the pitch after the flames died down, hardly a remainder of what it was and several bodies littering the field. I felt the bile rise in my throat, and my vision sway, but Ginny centered me with a gentle hand on my arm.

"I can't do this."

Ginny lowered her hand from my arm. "Yes you can, Harry. You promised you would try."

"I didn't promise." Why did she always put words into my mouth, always twisting them into something she wanted to hear?

"Fine, but you said you'd at least try. Now, let's get the equipment out, everyone will be headed out soon." She stalked across the field to the supply shed and I followed a few steps behind, taking deep breaths and trying desperately to cling onto the present, the current, the now.

Though I was there, Ginny knew I was in no state to instruct, so she continued in my place as Captain. Whenever I got too overwhelmed, Ron helped me fly back down to the ground safely and sat with me while I recovered, stroking my back to help put me at ease.

...

Over all, the experience was extremely exhausting both physically and mentally so that night I was able to fall asleep quickly, though the security of sleep never lasted long. I had shut the curtains around my bed, but in my exhaustion I'd forgotten my silencing charms.

I woke up to being shaken violently, with something clamped between my teeth, and a loud ringing in my ears. In the blur above me I saw bright red hair and two other shadowed figures, their voices sounded muffled and distant. I felt my eyes roll back and was shaken again as I felt a pressure on my chest and red hair brushed against my face.

Things began to slide into focus as the pressure relieved itself and two pairs of hands sat me up, another patting my back as I spat a bloodied card onto my lap. One of them must have put it between my teeth to stop me from chewing on the inside of my mouth. Glasses were slid onto my face and I carefully raised my head, my neck muscles sore.

I saw Ron sitting to my left, his face unusually red and panic stricken, and felt his hand continuing to stroke my back as the other hands let go of me. There was Neville standing next to Ron and Seamus standing to my right, Dean no where in sight. I looked around at them and raised my hand to wipe my face, but Seamus snatched me by the wrist. It remained strangely silent between us as Ron continued to pat my back. It seemed none of them wanted to dare ask about what had happened.

The door then opened, Dean stepping in and Hermione rushing in after. Seamus stepped out of the way as she sat on my right, taking my hands in hers as she glanced at Ron and paled.

She looked back to me and brushed my sweat covered hair away from my face, her voice not holding its usual tremulous undertone, "Harry, how long have you been silencing around your bed? Don't deny it, I can feel the magic."

I felt the whole energy of the room grow thick and noticed my dormmates look around to each other. Ron's voice rose to a pinched whine, "What?"

She slowly looked to him, "I felt it as soon as I stepped foot through the door. Since you sleep in here every night, I don't suppose you've noticed." Ron looked even more distraught as she turned back to me and asked me again.

I closed my eyes, "Since summer." I felt her tighten her grip on my hands.

I could here the tension in her voice as she tried to stay composed. "Has it always been so bad?"

"Only since we came back here."

She sharply let out a held breath, the regular pleading tone to her voice returning. "Harry, why? Why have you been trying to hide it?" Good question, Why had I?

It wasn't embarrassment or anything like that; I had just not wanted to bother anyone with something beyond anyone's control, especially with something so beyond my control. I didn't know how to say it quiet so clearly to them, so I just shrugged.

Hermione pulled me into a tight hug as Seamus, Dean, and Neville quietly slipped from the room, probably to talk. Ron sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. I wished I didn't put them though this. If I had just died they would have grieved and moved on; they wouldn't have had to keep doing what they were, dealing with my daily internal deaths, dealing with constant grief and anguish because of me. I was just a sore reminder of the past I was stuck in and it must have been so hard. I was so sorry for that.

For a while I had worried about what would happen when they found out about how bad I had gotten. I thought they'd be angry and chastise me about how worried they were. That night, though, Hermione had just made me take the dreamless sleep so we could deal with it in the morning; Ron also made sure my bed curtains stayed open and as I fell back asleep I could feel him watching me. I couldn't tell if he was worried or angry I had been keeping things from him.

...

A new batch of dreamless sleep had been made up for me, and with being forced to take it and being woken from my dreams by Ron before they got too bad, I was feeling much better then I had in far too long. Feeling better physically, however, only gave me more energy for outburst and acting out. One particular afternoon I was especially put out.

In the common room, chairs had been kicked or tossed over, things along shelves strewn on the floor. I had moved down from the completely torn apart dorm and was tossing seat cushions off the couch in a mad search for things non-existent and in the past. Ron had stormed down from the dorm yelling at me incoherently, and I faintly heard more arguing upstairs, coming from my more then disgruntled dormmates. I had slipped far too deep, and was unable to come out of it as easily as I usually did.

I swung at him as he tried to approach me, though he ducked it and shoved me back against the stone wall. He had grabbed me by the face and was yelling at me to get a hold of myself. In instinct I had shoved him away and tried to reach for my wand that was no longer tucked into the side of my pants. I saw him toss it to the floor, still yelling at me. I tried to lunge for it, but he grabbed me and held me as I struggled to get my arms free, both of us stumbling around the common room. I slipped one arm out and had elbowed Ron in the nose hard which caused him to shove me to the ground as he cradled his face, blood dripping from between his fingers.

When Hermione ran in from the portrait, she looked thoroughly horrified. She opted to rush up to Ron first to stop his bleeding nose. I was sprawled on the ground, feeling constricted and confused as my mind flit rapidly from present to past and around again. I listened to Ron and Hermione argue with growing intensity. Ron yelled about how I was a raging lunatic, Hermione held him back from rushing at me, pleading him to calm down. He yelled about I was the one that needed to be calmed down and that he's not always the one at fault. Her voice rose, telling him that I was just sick, that he needed to understand I just needed help. Ron then began yelling about how she apparently cared more about me then him.

I sat up when I had the breath and crawled over to the base of the stairs up to the boy's dorms, leaning against the wall. I shut my eyes tightly, willing the ringing in my ears to stop.

Beyond the ringing I heard Hermione scream as Ron pushed past her. "I can't handle this with you, Ronald! It's _over_!" A moment later I heard the portrait shut behind her and Ron slumped onto the cushion-less couch in front of the fireplace, as the arguing continued upstairs.

Stillness suddenly wracked my body with pain, and impulses to move and run over took me. It felt like only mere moments after Hermione left, but may have been longer, when the portrait shut behind me and I moved as quickly as I could down the momentarily still staircases.

Darkness clouded my eyes as I started my usual storming about the castle.


	4. Thrown Into the Midst of a Flood

_((AN: And here they finally properly interact! More dialogue heavy and implications of child abuse. Hmm, it may be a while longer for me to get chapter five out, but I think I've been thoroughly inspired so, I never know! Speaking of inspiration, the band La Dispute has been more then inspirational! Very emotionally powerful and overall wonderful!_

_I really want to know what you guys think so far, especially your feelings on the situation between Harry and Draco.))_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Four<em>

_Thrown Into the Midst of a Flood_

'_It's over!' _The words echoed in my mind as clearly as the echoing of my footsteps throughout the corridor. The pain in my lungs from my fight with Ron spread to an ache all through my body. Damn the unfairness of it all. I'd ruined the last bit of happiness my two best friends could have, I had completely, utterly torn it to shreds. How could I let that happen? How could I possibly have allowed that to happen?

I clenched my fists, beginning to think of when the three of us had gone out in search of the Horcruxes. Ron had left us, his anger tipped by the effects of the locket, jealous over the same stupid reasons. Could he not see how much Hermione cared for him? I may have not wanted anything more to do with Ginny romantically, but I at least understood how much she cared for me, as much as it pained me to know it; and it was for her own good, not because of jealousy.

I groaned aloud, shutting my eyes and letting my legs take my wherever they willed. In the darkness behind my eyes, wallowing in the darkness of my mind, I heard another set of footsteps as well as that ever familiar scoff. My eyes snapped open and I stopped walking.

I heard the footsteps come to a stop before he came into focus, hidden in shadows of the corridor which was, as I realized, closer to the dungeons then I would have liked, his same old scowl plastered on his face. Several images quickly flit through my mind; the bathroom, the Astronomy Tower, the Manor, and the Room of Requirement. Everything started hurting far more then the dull ache that I was accustomed to, and the edges of my vision began to black out as I remembered the feel of his dark hawthorn in my hand.

"Where's your little posse, _Potter_?" The way he spit out my name like the vilest of insults pulled me violently from my slip. All I wanted was to hurt him again; smash him against the wall and beat that smug look off his face. I wanted nothing more then to feel the satisfaction I got from the game.

"Why's it any of your business, Malfoy?" This first moment of recognition between us was just what I needed. Still one person who saw me for as low as I knew I was. I had been disheartened by his ignoring me at the very start of term, but maybe my attacking him at the game knocked him to his senses.

He took a few steps towards me, as sickly looking as ever. I wondered if he looked worse at the trials. I didn't want to be present at the older Malfoy's trials, and wasn't involved except for a letter written to plead for a pardoning for his mother as well as a short written testimony against his father. I vehemently refused any involvement or knowledge concerning his own trial. All I knew was that his bastard of a father was rightfully back in Azkaban awaiting a dementor's kiss and his mother as locked away in the Manor. For the woman that I owed everything to, she at least deserved some freedom, especially since she wasn't technically a death eater, just a wife thrown into the midst.

"You certainly look like shit." It seemed almost as if we were taken back to out younger years, mindless insults to fuel our rivalry. Back then it was just that, a stupid, childish rivalry. Who knew it would have turned out like it did.

"Not like you look any better." Though I wondered if I did in fact look as bad as he did, I certainly wouldn't be surprised.

"Shut up, Potter!" I saw him reach for his wand and I instinctively went to reach for mine, only I had left mine on the floor of the common room. That obnoxious smirk spread onto his face, seeing that I didn't have my wand on me. "You forget something? Well, well…" Yep, just like old times. Though I thought he'd be more careful not to get into trouble by fighting with me. Not like I really cared. All I wanted was a fight at that moment.

He took a few more steps closer to me, and I could clearly see just what a mess he was, a put together mess, sure, but still a mess. "You know, I'm surprised they even let you back here, after all you've done." Considering I was pretty much the only one who could really claim he was innocent. Since I refused to speak for or against him at his trial, I couldn't believe he was not rotting away with his father, much less back at Hogwarts.

"Oh, so you weren't the noble Gryffindor to speak on my behalf, were you? Figures. I suppose this means I can't let you off for shoving me into the stands then." He raised his wand quickly to my throat.

What? So someone did speak for him? It could have only been Hermione or Ron, but why would they? And was Malfoy ignoring me as some sort of thanks for thinking I spoke up for him? That thought fueled bitterness within me. He'd even started to treat me differently.

"Shove off it, I didn't mean to." While that was true, it wasn't what I'd intended to say. I took a step back, away from him.

He stepped forward again, pressing his familiar wand to my throat. "Oh, didn't meant to, did you? What was it then, Potter?" I grit my teeth, biting back my tongue. I absolutely _hated_ the way he spoke to me. It reminded me of the way Vernon would speak to me. I tried hard to force those memories to remain repressed, I'd rather think of the war. I tried hard to stay focused on the present.

I tried to keep my voice controlled, though it wavered slightly, "A reflex, you bumped me first."

I stepped away and he stepped forward, we continued down the corridor. A memory that I had never recalled before passed though my mind; crying, pleading, and backing away down the hall, so afraid and so angry when Vernon charged me in a rage for something I didn't remember doing. Fuck. Why? Why now, when I had enough to be haunted by with the war? I'd kept those things locked away for long enough, so why now? Why with Malfoy of all people?

"You scared without your all powerful wand, Potter? Defeated a Dark Lord yet you back away from me?"

I pulled away from the far too distant past, anger replacing bitterness, snapping. "So you admit you're not that intimidating?"

He jabbed me in the neck with a snarl as I backed into a wall. I was not afraid of him; I just didn't want that damned wand in my face, each touch sparking another terrible memory of its use, as well as the use of the fists by my Uncle. I knew I could overpower him in just pure strength if it came to it, but I didn't exactly trust myself knowing I could spiral out of control. If anything I was more afraid of myself, both physically and mentally with what else I could produce in my mind.

"Everyone's been saying how grateful I should be to you, Potter. How I should be thankful my mother and I didn't get worse. Well I'm not going to get on my knees and kiss your feet like everyone else."

Good. I didn't deserve that, especially not from him. I'd rather him knock me to my knees and spit in my face then that.

He made a disgusted sound in his throat as he twisted his wand against my skin. "Savior? Oh, please, I can tell you're a pathetic wreck." His voice took on a mocking tone. "Haunted by the ghosts of your past, are you? That rubbish is all I ever hear about nowadays."

He lowered his voice again, glaring through me as I remained silent. "No one like that deserves any respect. I especially have no reason to be grateful towards you, other then the obvious. You still ruined my family name, didn't even have the balls to go speak for the sake of my mother, did you?"

I closed my eyes, rage bubbling very close to the surface. I did the best I could, damn it. How was I expected to actually care about how his life ended up after the war when I couldn't even get my own life sorted out? I could only have guessed how bad the situation would turn, with my fits of rage.

He jabbed at my windpipe, causing my eyes to snap open and me to jerk away, hardly holding back a strangled noise from releasing itself from my throat. He kept his wand aimed, not wavering like at the Astronomy Tower. He screamed; breaking that haughty, fragile composure he had been trying to keep together. "Look at me!"

He took a couple of breaths; a few strands of hair had come free from its perfect brushed look, his grey eyes molten with hatred. He was coming unwound right in front of me, an eerie echo of his father.

He spat in my face as he yelled, more menacing and surprisingly more controlled then before. "Everyone sees you as this _fucking_ poster-boy for righteousness. You've ruined everything in my life though, you've sought to, Potter, and I won't forgive you!" His lips then began to move in incantation.

In the few slowed moments my mind allowed, that spit, tone, and blame struck me deep in a place so long repressed. I could see myself lying in my cot under the stairs, crying hard as Vernon's yelling seemed to shake everything around and within me. I felt as small as a child and all I could think of was my pre-Hogwarts self, everything that had gone wrong because of them, then, because of some strange connection my mind had mad, the things that had gone wrong because of the Malfoys.

There was second year, when Lucius had slipped Riddle's Diary to Ginny. The night at the graveyard in fourth year, Lucius standing with other sick men around me, as their Lord had risen again. There was the incident at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius' death. Then there was Ron, convulsing on the floor, poisoned; then Katie Bell, possessed by a cursed necklace; both attempts to murder Dumbledore, as well as the night on the Tower. There was that night in the Manor, with Hermione scarred and Dobby dead.

I knew it was wrong to concentrate all my anger and frustration just at the man in front of me, but I couldn't help it. The hate belonged to his father; though at that moment he looked just as deranged, more similar to him then ever before, so I just couldn't help it. I had long thought I'd forgiven him for what he did, knowing that it was all so out of control for him, as it was for me. But clearly I hadn't, which was why I didn't want to be involved in his trial. I knew that I, just like everyone else, would see him just for what his father did.

It didn't matter to me at that moment, all I could focus on was my repressed anger towards the Dursleys, and all my anger towards Lucius which was flooding though me so violently I could no longer see; could no longer think. All I registered was the sound of a sickening crack of bone, a wand skittering to the floor as a loud thud landed at my feet, and muffled, choked _crying_.

...

The next I recalled was my very sore hand, my violent trembling, the panicked yelling of the Headmistress, and a large pool of coagulating blood under Malfoy's head. What had I done? The sharp pain in my head, neck, and chest was not filled with the numb satisfaction as before. Why hadn't it worked? I stared down at him blankly; his body was stilled with glassy eyes, tears stained his face, blood stained his shirt, and his jaw looked skewed, bruised, and swollen. I tensed with the memory of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as I was jerked out of my reverie.

I was violently pulled away from my spot, stumbling as the old Scotswoman yelled frantically, reaching an irritable pitch. A teacher I hadn't recognized hurried past us toward the mess I had made.

Students that had been on their ways to bed, stared on as Professor McGonagall tugged me along, still trembling terribly with what I guessed was a blank, distant look on my face. I felt the air grow heavy around me as I thought back to his eyes.

The only time eyes looked like that was when life had left them, as I remembered Cedric so clearly. No, a punch no matter how hard could not kill someone. Though if it was paired with an accidental bout of magic…no, no, I refused to even think of that. As much as I was convinced I hated him, he didn't deserve that.

...

I spent a long time laid on the small love seat in the Headmistress' office; a cold cup of tea on the low table before me that I refused to touch, but stared at intently. She spent a long time sitting behind her desk, trying to get me to talk, then gave up, leaving to check the hospital wing. I laid there a long time, listening to the portraits chatting away and refusing to look where I knew a certain portrait would be, undoubtedly shaking his head in disappointment at me.

She came back sometime later; I wasn't quite sure how much time had passed as the past had overwhelmed me, seizing my mind, with confusion about my childhood memories mixed in. She looked down at me sadly, sitting behind her desk again.

"I thought it would help you to know, Mister Potter, that Mister Malfoy has been stabilized." She paused, hoping I would say something, anything, then sighed knowing I wouldn't.

"Seeing that Mister Malfoy cannot he speak, nor is he conscious, I need you to tell me what happened to cause you to do what you did. This goes beyond what previously was childish fighting, Mister Potter, and considering your fragile state it may not be safe for you here."

What was that supposed to mean? Not safe? Was she expelling me? I sat up abruptly. "I—Professor, please—"

She sighed wearily, holding up a wrinkled hand to silence me. "Please, Mister Potter, calm down. Just tell me what happened."

A long silence drew between us before I decided to speak. "I'm not sure." She gave me a look to continue. What was I to say? I didn't want to talk about it, especially not with her. I didn't think I'd even be fully comfortable talking to Dumbledore, honestly.

"He drew his wand at me…I don't remember." Okay, so a half truth, though it probably did nothing to go up against McGonagall's claim of my 'fragile state.' I started talking a bit faster, "I didn't have my wand with me, he cornered me. I—"

She gave a small nod. "Perhaps some sort of instinct to protect yourself, all things considered…"

"I don't want to be sent away." I hated the whine in my voice. As much as I was convinced I didn't want to be here because of sore reminders of the past, it was better then wallowing around in that awful house, in darkness doing nothing as I waited for the Ministry to reconsider me.

"Well, we will not allow this to go unpunished." Then why had I not been punished for everything else I had done? It was probably because I had hurt someone this time, not just broken rules or objects. "We figured your behavior would improve as you readjusted, but clearly it has not."

I lowered my head, waiting for her to continue. The silence stretched out between us again. "Mister Potter…I want to let you know that I am sorely disappointed in—" Me? "—the Ministry for not being able to provide proper support for you or for your friends involved in the war. I'm very sorry they've not tried to help you." What was that supposed to mean? Help me?

"Professor, I don't—"

"Mister Potter, please, I have been witness to many terrible things and I know a damaged wizard when I see one. I just wished that the Ministry could have gotten it together just enough to be able to provide some form of support for the war torn sooner." What could the Ministry have done for 'support'?

What was there anyone could have done for me anyway? I was broken, something was long removed that could not be replaced. Even though I almost hoped the Weasleys would send me off to St. Mungo's in the summer, I knew there was nothing they could do. I let out a low groan, not understanding where she was going with telling me about problems having to do with the Ministry of which I was well aware.

"I want you to know, Mister Potter, that as Headmistress I am always here if you need to talk. I know I cannot be what Dumbledore was to you, but I can do my best to provide a willing ear for any troubles." I just shook my head slowly. Talking never got me anywhere except into arguments.

"Then if anything, I want you to accompany me in here all of this week for your detention. Do with that as you will, make it time to actually do work, talk, listen, anything."

I just wanted to be left alone. People would not let up about my getting 'help' of any sort recently. Did they not realize there's not anything they could do? Although admittedly, I had only just recently came to the realization of the futility of it all myself.

"I'm going to let Miss Granger know what has happened tonight, and she's to make sure you make it here every night for a week."

"Professor, no—she's got enough things to worry about already!" I'd burdened her enough over summer and with having just ruined her relationship I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't want anything to do with me any more. I know I would be sick of me.

"I'm sorry, but as Head Girl these are her responsibilities—"

"Then have the Head Boy—"

"You just sent him to the Hospital Wing, Mister Potter! Did you not know?"

I blanked at that, mouth open ready to reply but words didn't come. Malfoy? Head Boy? Why would they have allowed that? Especially with what had happened fifth year when he'd been given power and allowed to abuse it.

She thinned her lips, seeming to consider my unvoiced questions carefully, as if not sure she should say anything. "We did it as a way to try to mend inter-house relations as well as for an agreement made under his probation."

Well, I understood why she'd considered it; the first part, my unspoken job, to help ease that tension, was a ridiculous request to be made of me and made all the more ridiculous by being voiced out loud. The part about Malfoy flew right over my head. While initially surprised, I didn't care too much about the terms of his trial.

I hated that I was expected to do all these things that, frankly, were unrealistic to be expected of me. "Well, I'm sorry I've screwed up all your hard work then." It sounded far harsher then I had meant it to.

"Mister Potter, what has happened between you and Mister Malfoy I know goes far beyond mere house prejudice! I don't expect you two to simply make up after years of enmity, but I would at least hope that now war is behind us you'd agree to be civil with—if not him, then please, the other targeted Slytherins in your year."

"Targeted?"

"Those that are known, thought, or just merely labeled to have followed the Dark Lord." Why would I be civil with people who'd wanted to kill me or would have just passed me off to Voldemort if they got their hands on me?

"Slytherins? I just thought everyone was attacking each other." Based off the little information I got from the boy in the Hospital Wing. While a majority of those I saw in the Hospital Wing were Slytherin, why not have me speak for the sake of everyone?

"While those in all houses have been attacked, mainly on the premises of rumors that they may have agreed with the Dark Lord's views, it's been focused on Slytherin house because of negative pre-held notions."

How was I expected to convince people to stop acting upon age old prejudices, something I knew I acted upon? Since my first days here, I was taught Slytherins were no good, so how on Earth was I expected to erase something that was so far ingrained into even my own mind?

"While I know you would very easily speak up for the other houses as you've no personal grudges again individuals in them, the same cannot be said for Slytherin." I was getting fed up; I couldn't seriously be expected to speak as a peace keeper for all of Hogwarts.

"All I am asking, Mister Potter, is that you try to be civil with the Slytherins. Others may see that you've moved past old grudges and follow your example. Consider it part of your punishment, if anything."

I just let out a frustrated groan, leaning my head back on the love seat, staring at the ceiling. Move on? That was especially impossible. I was stuck, as stuck as a damned person in a painting, to remain what I was at a specific point in my life. I had been expected to do all sorts of crazy, impossible things throughout my life, and I thought it would have finally ended. I never got the chance to be a child, and never would be with all these expectations continuing to be pressed upon me and with the unplanned hindrances of my mental deformity.

...

Surprisingly, Hermione hadn't pushed me away. Ron, on the other hand, pulled himself away from us, apparently fed up with my crap and not wanting to deal face-to-face with jealousy or his sister's heartbreak. I didn't blame him.

I spent my days with Hermione and Ginny, the tension between the three of us was unbearable and I knew it was my fault. Hermione seemed conflicted and Ginny was trying so hard to keep up our friendship, despite how bad she was hurting. I had secluded myself once again, speaking even less, saving it for my detentions with McGonagall, not like I talked much then either.

With her I had actually started doing my work, listening to her musings about post-war treatments that were available of which I had no interest in, magical, muggle, or otherwise; and how much I was reminding her of Dumbledore. I didn't understand the latter part; I was usually far too gone to a calm, dark abyss by that point.

...

After another tense dinner I was headed towards the Hospital Wing with Hermione, who'd not left my side except for some of her more important Head duties, in order to get another refill of Dreamless Sleep potion for the week. Despite how irritating it was that she would not leave my side, she hadn't been irritating me in other ways, which was good I supposed. She'd not tried to pry or tell me to go get help or anything else. When she did talk she'd give a pause where I was expected to answer, but did not, and then would just continue on with her train of thought. Maybe McGonagall had talked to her; maybe she thought McGonagall was providing me some sort of help.

All I heard was our footsteps through the hall and distant chatting from the direction of the Great Hall.

The boy that I had not seen since that day one day in the Hospital Wing was walking the opposite direction, coming from his place of volunteering. He was taller than he seemed when I was laying down, that or I had just gotten even shorter. He shot me a friendly smile which I did not return. Hermione didn't question it because it wasn't out of the ordinary. None of it was, he was just another person trying to be friendly to get know the famous 'Savior of the Wizarding World.' But then again, he wasn't, he even told me he was uninterested in that. He was just an overly friendly person then.

I didn't want any new friends. Old ones were hard enough. Especially when I felt so undeserving of them.

When we walked in and towards Madam Pomfrey's desk in the back, I could feel a cold chill make its way down my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck stick up. Of course he was fucking glaring daggers at me, I didn't need to look back to see it. Hermione felt it too, though she was apparently compelled to glance back at him to make sure as we waited for Pomfrey to bring over the vials.

"He looks terrible."

"I would too if I had a broken jaw." Even after all that time of staying silent and to myself, whenever I started to get angry, especially over him, I just spoke without thinking.

She smacked me on the arm. "Harry!"

I just trained my eyes to the floor, returning to silence, as Pomfrey walked back over and handed the vials over to Hermione, who smiled. "Thank you."

Pomfrey said her expected _'Of course, dear' _and _'goodbye'_s as Hermione turned back around to leave. I hesitated for a brief moment before following, head down. I didn't want to see him. There was the risk of slipping again, and seeing him in his state would have made it worse, it may have even made me feel sorry for doing what I did. Was I sorry? I certainly wasn't satisfied with myself.

...

Hermione had invited me back to her Head quarters with her. I was as impressed with it as I had been with the Prefect's bathroom back in fourth year. It was large and spacious, though cozy, with an impressive fireplace and sitting area set to the right wall that rivaled the one in Gryffindor common room. There was a messy, filled desk at the backmost wall that was set right in front of large curtained windows which I guessed had a marvelous view of the grounds. Direct to the left of where we entered was an open archway to what looked like a small kitchenette and two doors also on the left wall to what I guessed were the bathroom and her bedroom.

She noticed me looking around with subdued awe, and smiled, proud with herself. Admittedly, she had been getting better at reading my subtleties. She told me to lay back and just relax as she left to the kitchenette to get me a glass of water, which, judging by the taste had Dreamless Sleep mixed into it.

She talked at me, not expecting any replies, as she sat at her desk, working on her assignments and paperwork. After drinking the glass of potion-water, I had quickly drifted off to sleep mostly by effect of said potion, but also because I had felt more relaxed then I had in a while. There was nobody but Hermione, just talking away more to herself then me, nobody to stare at me or judge me, nobody else to remind me of terrible things. My rest was nearly peaceful, which it hadn't been for far too long, even with the potion.

Through the dark haze of sleep which was beginning to lift because of the cut down potion, I barely felt a blanket get draped over me, and then became more clearly aware of a door clicking softly shut a moment later.

I then dipped back into a darker, more fitful sleep.


	5. Change of Pace

_((AN: Well, it took a bit longer to get this chapter done then I thought it would. I may have to go back edit the end because I was sort of rushing to get it done. It may take even longer for chapter six to get out since I've got school starting up again soon. __Sorry if there's a lot of awkward writing in some parts, I was reading_ American Psyco_ as I was writing this. That __writing style does not do good when clashing with mine ahaha. Perhaps the chapter title also can relate to the writing and change of pace for the story so far._

_Enjoy! And please review, I want to know what you guys think so far!))_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Five<em>

_Change of Pace_

Thoughts of funerals and burials haunted me that night. Ones of all those that had died because of the war and because of me, ones I attended at every free moment I had between trials and hearings; they filled every dark crevice of my mind. I remembered how difficult Lupin's, Fred's, and surprisingly Snape's were for me to get through. Most the rest were an awful dark blur, just countless faces I could not be forced to remember.

I remembered holding Teddy's weight, and seeing Andromeda for the first time since the war. I remembered feeling his muffled crying and whining as he trembled against me, his black hair brushing against my face and drool pooling on my shoulder. It was awful, absolutely heart breaking. I didn't want him to grow up without his family, but I caused that to happen by allowing his parents to risk everything for me. As his godfather, I swore to make sure I was there for him; I wanted him to have the family I never did. I knew his grandmother loved him greatly, but I desperately wanted to be there for him too. I wanted to tell him great tales of his father, about how wonderful and brave his mother was. I just wished I had been able to spend more time with them so I would have been able to tell him more about them.

The next day, I made it back at the Burrow, which was as decorated much as it had been for Bill's wedding, only everything felt so wrong. It was decorated darkly, and there was a heaviness in the air that made it especially hard to breathe and think; and it wasn't just me, I could see it in everyone. I made sure to stay by George's side the entire day; most of the time the two of us just stood side by side, helping to hold the other up from crumpling to the floor from the heavy burden of death. There was an emptiness in George's eyes that still haunted me very clearly. I wondered if my eyes looked as empty.

I felt closer to George during that time then anyone else. We were in similar states of mind and when my work for the Ministry had been finished, we spent the majority of our time together, mostly in mutual, sympathetic silence. Everyone said I sort of helped to fill in his missing half. Both of us thought that a rather terrible thing to say, no one could even attempt to fill what Fred was to George, or replace whatever I was missing. The fact they could even say something like that—it was unbelievable to us, but we knew they didn't really understand the weight of their words on us.

However, over the summer, everyone had noticed how he'd been coping better and was slowly getting back himself, while there I was, still stuck. They hoped I would follow along, coddling me like a child stunted in development. It made me feel worse. Knowing there really was no one that understood, that could understand. As George started his 'living twice as full', I was just wishing I'd go to sleep and never wake up, or that I had the courage to pitch myself off my broom.

Then there was Severus' funeral. While I had been working through trials and such, I had forced the time to secure a proper burial for him, in a proper place, after I had been able to prove his innocence and that he was on the good side. It didn't take to long to decided on the hill overlooking Spinner's End, and on making sure no one else knew about the service. I almost did want to invite Narcissa, but things were still too hard and still too delicate to do it; plus, she would have brought her son, I knew I wouldn't be able to deal with that since his trial was still in process at the time. Therefore, it was just going to be me.

I was walking through the streets near Spinner's end in Cokeworth. It was a terrible heart heavy morning, the sun just barely risen or showing through the clouds and fog as I walked, passing the street and house that I was told my mother grew up it. The air was smoggy and dirty, making my eyes water more then they already were. There were houses that I passed where the elderly were already awake and working, those in their yards looked at me; an unfamiliar person in that old neighborhood.

One old woman did approach me and asked if I was moving in somewhere around there, as there were many houses for sale. I had stopped and told her no, for some reason confiding in her that I was attending a funeral for an old professor of mine. Conversationally and sympathetically, a hand placed gently on my arm, she asked what his name was and what others would be attending.

Trying to be polite, I worked hard not to lower my eyes or mumble as I told her he was Severus Snape and that I was the only one attending.

I realized at that moment I had made a grave mistake, he wouldn't have wanted to be alone that day. There would be no one to appreciate who he was as a person, to appreciate his sacrifices. I still hardly understood any of it, of him; I didn't have the ability to fully appreciate him, and no matter what he still disliked me more then anything. I wished I could have at least called Narcissa, someone, anyone.

I lowered my eyes, stuffing my hands into my pockets, shivering slightly against the cold, dirty breeze. The old woman, seeing my discomfort in the fact I was the only one, offered to come with me, asking questions about him all the way.

'_Did he live around here?'_ I had told her yes; that he grew up on Spinner's end and lived there all his life.

'_You said he was your professor. What did he teach you? For how long?' _it took me a moment to answer, trying to come up with the muggle equivalent to potions. Chemistry, science, I had told her. He taught me since I was eleven.

'_Oh, and how old are you now, was it some sort of boarding school?' _ Eighteen and yes, it was.

The talk we had was jumpy and awkward, going from one subject to another, about both Snape and me. It was the first time I realized how much more I felt at ease with a stranger, with a muggle, with someone who didn't know who I was or what I had been through. I was just a grieving young man, not a broken boy that had been in the front of a terrible war.

We made our way up to the hill, with her still asking curious questions, and me answering them as simply as I could. It was strange to say the least, especially with the fact that I had not been getting frustrated with her. I felt more emotionally drained and numb then anything. I realized just how much I had been holding in, just how much lighter I felt after talking to someone who was so ignorant, just plain curious.

'_Why are you the only one? Were you his only student?'_ I elaborated to her about these questions, telling her he had many students, but was disliked my nearly all of them, even me. I told her he protected me and risked his life for me when I was in trouble, even though he disliked me too._ 'We had a complicated relationship to say the least.'_ I said, thinking back on him, my legs trembling terribly as we walked, trying to stay afloat the darkness that threatened to sink me.

'_No family, I'm guessing?'_ I again explained more then I should have to her, saying he had those close to him that I thought he considered as family…but that we were not on good terms and they were not in a good place to be going anywhere at the time.

As we reached the top of the hill, with a slightly wavering voice, I, for some reason, decided to tell her that I wished he had someone else so he didn't have to be completely alone. She listened silently, allowing me to express how terrible I felt being the one that had to make sure he got the burial, to fight to show how he was not some completely terrible person, and that he had to suffer for me.

She remained respectfully silent as the ministry official began the service. I kept my eyes to the ground, shaking more then from the chill in the wind that had seeped deep into my bones. My mind was slipping to darkness, remembering how brutally he was murdered and how he looked at me as he died. I remembered all the years of hating him and him hating me. I thought back to promises he made with Dumbledore, how he had to be the one to kill Dumbledore, how he never got to live an honest life and never would have been able to.

Hot tears started rolling down my face, my chest heaving to try to contain sobs. The old woman wrapped an arm around me, quietly comforting me and telling me it was all going to be okay, that he was not truly gone.

I gripped my hand into my shirt, over my chest, remembering what Sirius had told me: _'The one's that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them in here.'_ But Snape had not loved me, nor I him. Though there was something between us; he had protected me for the sake of my mother because he loved her, but he hated me because of my father. I supposed love and passion did draw a bond between Snape and I nevertheless.

It hurt to know I would never have a chance to make things right with him.

Afterwards I sat on a stone bench with the old woman, still seeking the meager comfort she provided. She had begun to ask questions again.

'_How did he die, if you don't mind me asking?' _She deserved to know, but how was I going to explain it? After a long moment, with only the sounds of the rustling trees and my sniffing, I told her that while trying to protect me, a man that was looking to murder me had murdered him.

She was silent after that, seeming to be thinking over something, it certainly wasn't an ordinary explanation. She then invited me back to her home. I didn't want to, but seeing that it was so cold and I didn't want to be anywhere else, I agreed. It was one of the few times that talking seemed to be helping, so I might as well go along with it.

...

I very suddenly woke in the very early morning, lying on my back on Hermione's couch as I remembered what had happened when I got to the woman's house, my thoughts continuing linearly from where my interrupted dreams left off.

...

Her home was very cozy as she led me to a delicately decorated sitting room and to sit in what seemed like an antique chair. She came back from where I assumed the kitchen was moments later with a delicate tea set, sitting in another pastel coloured chair beside me.

'_So, child, I never did ask your name.'_ Shit, I needed to come up with something quickly and I wasn't going to try and make some horrid combination of my Uncle's and Cousin's names either. I almost wanted to tell her my real name, but I just couldn't, I was still far too paranoid, in which case, why had even gone into her house? I needed something common. I took the cup she offered to me, thinking while I took a slow sip.

'_Michael…' _She nodded, seeming to accept my hesitance as just a weariness of strangers.

'_Do you not have any friends or family you could have had join you today?' _She sounded genuinely concerned as she took a sip of the tea as well.

'_Plenty of friends…but as I said, no one really liked Severus.'_

She frowned, more wrinkles seeming to appear on her face _'No family, dear boy?'_

'_No, though my mother and Severus were childhood friends.' _Why was she so curious about me now? And why did I allow myself to open up to readily to a stranger, that old woman. I surely could be putting myself in danger. What if it was a trap? What if she was really a reporter? No, I was being ridiculous.

She continued nursing her cup, as she thought, then spoke carefully. _'When did they—your parents die? That is if it's not too sensitive.'_

I shook my head. _'The man that murdered Severus murdered my parents too, when I was a baby. He murdered most of the people dear to me actually.'_ I surprised myself with the confession as well as the lack of anger, or even emotion in my voice. I stated it very factually. It was that moment when the women noticed something very wrong about all of it.

'_Who is—was this man? Why on Earth would he—?' _She seemed worried that just being associated with me would mark her for death. In the past that most certainly could have been true, though I sure hoped it still wasn't the case for there were still followers out there.

'_He's gone now, he died.'_ I could not share with her about specifics or whys; I had to lie. _'I have no clue why. Just a mad-man.' _I shakily set my cup down, slipping in and out of the present as the pressure in my head rose uncomfortably. The house suddenly seemed far too cramped and stuffy. It smelled of rot and death and burning. I was having terrible flashbacks of Bathilda Bagshot's on Christmas. I needed out.

'_I'm sorry—I need to go.'_

'_I understand. Thank you for spending time with me, boy. I believe we both needed it.'_

I stood and barely choked out a _'thank you'_ before leaving.

When I walked out, I looked at the address in hopes of writing to the old woman, but later when I did, it turned out she had died. It was only three days later. After hearing the news, I became more secluded which worried my friends, especially since I hadn't told them of the funeral, let alone the old woman I had met. I hoped she wasn't murdered. If she was, muggles would just see it as natural causes since she was so old. Everyone I knew had a way of ending up murdered. I blamed myself for her death for a very long time, as I blamed myself for many things I probably should not have.

...

As I continued to stare at the ceiling over the couch in Hermione's quarters, I heard a door click open. I then heard soft footsteps move across the room as a light lit up from the kitchen area when I heard a glass clink and a mutter, and after, the sound of water filling a glass. I finally turned my head to the lit up archway, my vision blurry. The figure of Hermione momentarily blocked the light as she noticed me awake.

A bit surprised she took a sip of water and asked quietly, "Oh, Harry? You're awake?"

I looked back to the ceiling, giving her a silent answer that I was. I listened as her quiet footsteps approached and stopped at a chair beside the couch that she pulled a bit closer.

"Did the potion work well enough? I knew I shouldn't have put it in the water, but I know how much you hate it plain, so I just—" She cut herself off when she realized she was about to ramble or that I wasn't listening, or both.

While they were unpleasant dreams, they weren't the nightmares or night terrors I was so used to, nor was my mouth tasting like blood, so I supposed it worked well enough. I hated not dreaming, wallowing around in an empty abyss of my subconscious mind, and the after effects I usually felt with the potion, while I felt a bit foggy, I was otherwise feeling quite well; not paralyzed or crushed.

In my silence, Hermione looked down at her lap, then back up at me as she took another sip of water, waiting for me to answer.

I coughed and spoke quietly, "It's fine. It wasn't that bad."

"You know, Harry…" The beginning of that sentence never ended well. "Maybe if you talked about some of your dreams, it may help you."

I closed my eyes, breathing out hard. Was she serious? All I wanted was to forget and move on as impossible as that was for me. Retelling the twisted nightmares I had which were mostly just memories of the past would do nothing to help me. Nothing could help me. I was too far gone now.

"I mean—after that week with McGonagall you were doing a little bit better. You can_not _just keep everything bottled up, Harry. You need to talk and maybe you can start with your dreams."

She's being unreasonable. How about before delving into the deep, dark secrets of my mind, we at least hold up a normal conversation. I wasn't better after the detentions. She just liked to think that because she'd been trailing after me constantly, noticing everything I muttered under my breath which was more then she usually heard me say. If anything, I felt less inclined to open up, especially to Hermione, whom I felt I betrayed by ruining her and Ron's relationship.

I stayed silent, shaking my head slowly with my eyes still closed.

"If you don't want to talk about them, maybe get to writing them down and then show them to me?"

"No."

"Then don't show me. Just do somethi—"

"_No_, Hermione. It's too much of a hassle and it won't do anything."

"How do you know it won't do anyth—"

"Because it won't!" I raised my voice, sitting up and glaring over at her. She flinched. I almost felt bad, but she just wouldn't listen.

She looked away from me, setting the glass of water down on the low table. I grabbed for my glasses on the table. A tense silence settled in the room.

Her voice sounded weary and weak, lowered to almost a whisper. "I'm sorry. I suppose you don't need me nagging you. I just care so much for you though, Harry. We all do."

After putting on my glasses, I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them, and stared down. My voice lowered as well. "Ron doesn't."

"Don't say that—"

"Why not? He can't even stand to be around me anymore, Hermione."

"That's because he cares almost too much, Harry. He can't stand to see you like this." Bitterness welled in me. What did she want me to do?

"Well I'm sorry I can't get over myself. Why don't you all just m—"

"Harry!" She raised her voice, leaning foreword in the chair. I didn't look up. "Everyone deals with things in different ways. No one blames you for him being upset. It's how he's coping, unfortunately it's not exactly healthy and he's been taking it out on other people." Namely her.

"If everyone deals with things in different ways why can't you guys just listen to me and leave me alone? No one ever listens to me when I say nothing is going to fix this!"

I waited for her to say something along the lines of _'We can't just leave you.' _or_ 'You can't just push everyone away'_ but she stayed silent for too long a moment. I looked over to her. "And what is 'this'?"

It caught me a bit off guard and I hesitated. "I don't know." At least, I didn't know exactly. Was I depressed? Was it more then that? Was some part of me that allowed happiness long dead along with that part of Riddle?

She caught my hesitance. "You must have some idea if you know that whatever 'it' is can't be helped."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?" Damn it, Hermione, she just needed to drop it. I didn't need this first thing in the morning.

"Because. Maybe I just want to be able to have a normal conversation with you again. I don't even think I'm even capable of that right now!"

She sighed, irritated at my unwillingness to cooperate and just open up. "Fine. I'm always here for you though if you want to talk about the deep stuff, Harry. Never forget that. And if you ever need to just get away from Ron or your other dormmates, you're always welcome to come here."

I nodded, feeling a bit thankful that she may be dropping it for now. She stood up, picking up her glass as well.

"And I'll have you know, that the reason we refuse to give up on you is because we can see you are getting a little better. It may be taking a long time and sometimes you may back track, but we see it, even if you don't. And even you must realize if you were just left alone to your own devices that you'd only get worse."

I remained silent, not really having anything to say to that. I really didn't see how I'd gotten better. Perhaps going from nearly catatonic and emotionless to having angry outburst and attacking people was what Hermione meant. I, on the other hand, didn't really count that as progress. Though I did agree if I had been left alone for long enough, someone probably would have found me hung up in my closet or in a field somewhere with my broom broken beside me.

"I'm going to change for breakfast. You should too. I've not seen you eat decently for a while."

I shook my head. "I'm not feeling up for breakfast." I never did breakfast anymore. How could I expect myself to stomach breakfast after the nightmares I usually had.

"Please, Harry. If you don't want to go out, then I'll prepare something here."

"No." She really just couldn't let me alone.

"_Harry._" She was getting really fed up with me, I could tell by the forcefulness of her tone. I was too tired to deal with it, and I didn't want to go out and be stared at as I tried to choke down food, so eating in her quarters was the best idea, though she wasn't the best cook.

"Look, you go change. I'll make something up."

She looked at me very curiously for a moment, a bit startled by my offering to do anything. Without wanting to upset me into changing my mind, she walked away and into her bedroom with her water without a word.

I sat for a moment longer, stretching before I got up and slowly made my way to the kitchen.

For a while, my days usually ended in Hermione's quarters on her couch, sometimes in her bed, as long as she didn't have Head duties or rounds to make. Halloween was approaching, and Ron and Hermione were on good terms again, though not back together. After they had started talking again, we were back to eating out in the Great Hall. It wasn't like our meals in her quarters were that great anyway. Awkward talks, that I somehow always steered to Malfoy and how she didn't tell me he was the other Head, or about the food I'd made.

...

Everyone was talking to each other over dinner, excited for the up coming holiday, chatting away with the enthusiastic ghosts. I was feeling less inclined to talk that night, so I glared over at my favorite spot. It had been empty for ages. Did a broken jaw really take that long to heal? No, he was probably just milking it for as long as he could, like in third year when Buckbeak attacked him.

Dinner went on and I kept looking over to the empty spot, catching a dirty look or two from some of his followers or friends, whichever.

I managed to slip away from my group after dinner, ending up snapping at one of them, I can't remember which, in order to do it. Why was I going to the hospital wing? I had enough dreamless sleep, Pomfrey didn't want to see me, and I didn't…well, it wasn't like I wanted to see Malfoy.

I just needed to prove to myself that he was just milking his injury. When I was there not too long ago, he certainly had the energy to glare at me. I wanted to check if the momentary, very unlikely guilt I thought I felt was just a fluke, and if I would feel the satisfaction I got before.

...

There weren't many people left in there at the end of the day, a few bed curtains were pulled closed, but, as expected, Malfoy's were not. I stood by the door, being careful not to be seen. Malfoy was sitting up in the bed, but his head was leaned back as if he were staring at the high ceiling, his eyes closed. There was a large stack of books and papers on his bedside table. For Merlin's sake, how many classes did he take?

I watched him for a while, waiting for something, anything to happen. All that did, however was that he laid down, rubbing at his temples as he turned away from me. I felt and eerie sense of déjà vu, my mind slipping back to sixth year, constantly trailing after him and watching him, knowing he was up to something, him looking more sickly than ever.

While his mouth still looked a bit stuffed, the bruises were all gone. I could practically feel the stress and tension coming off him in waves and felt it lull as he fell asleep.

I was just about to leave when I heard, then saw, that the door to the backroom of the Wing had opened. I froze, hoping I wouldn't be seen, but the figure, which wasn't Pomfrey, walked to the door I was at. Seeing me, they took another step and then stopped. The light passed over his face; it was that Ravenclaw. What was he doing in there so late?

"Harry Potter? Why are you here? You aren't hurt are you?" His voice was quiet, though I worried Malfoy heard my name and woke, a glance to him showed he was still asleep.

I stood there awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. "Er— No, I'm not hurt. I was just…" Watching Malfoy sleep? That was disgusting enough to think of, I certainly wasn't going to say it out loud. That wasn't even what I was doing anyway.

He gave me a smile, and closed the distance between us, grabbing me lightly by the arm and walking out, leading me by the arm. "That's good. I wanted to talk with you, but I've never gotten the chance. You also shouldn't be out this late, but I've heard how much of a rebel you are, so no matter."

I pulled my arm out of his light grip. I had a feeling this was going to get weird fast, as things usually did for me. I didn't even know his name. Did he even have the authority to tell me how I shouldn't be out late? He may have been taller, but I knew he was younger. And who the hell said I was a rebel?

I walked with him silently, watching our shadows in the floor as we walked. I felt him look at me, but I didn't look up.

"I just realized I may have never given a proper introduction of myself."

I then looked at him, almost not wanting to know his name. It would break the anonymity of his part; he'd no longer be as much of a stranger to me.

He smiled at me, a small smile I've seen very similarly on Luna's lips before. As if she saw something beyond the normal realm of existence, as if she knew something she wasn't really supposed to. It used to be reassuring, but as of late it was unnerving, she didn't just look around with that smile, she looked at me, almost seeming to look through me. What did she see hidden within me? What could that boy, whom I didn't even know, see? Or did some Ravenclaws just make that all knowing smile? I may have seen a similar smile on Cho before…

He stopped walking, as did I. "I'm Bradley, Jason Bradley. Please, just call me Jason though." He held out his hand, which I looked down at, unsure if I should take the chance and shake it.

I didn't need any other friends trying to breathe down my throat, worried about me. Then again, he didn't seem like the others, he seemed…well, more concerned with the surface appearance, the purely physical, much unlike my idea of Luna. Though that may have just been some idea I stuck to him, knowing he wanted to be a doctor, or healer, whatever they were called in the wizarding world.

I nodded a bit and shook his hand. "Well, you know who I am." Something I still wasn't completely used to, strangers just coming up and greeting me, telling me how thankful they were for everything I did, apparently knowing everything about my life. One of the reasons I stopped going out so much, it just got too overwhelming.

He let go and started walking again, towards the staircases, seeming to stare blankly ahead at something that caught his attention. "Not really. I know your name and the stories; not you, exactly."

"And…you want to know me?" Along with everyone else in the entirety of the wizarding world.

"Sharp, you are. Yes." His clipped answer almost startled me, like back in the Hospital Wing a while ago. I had to remind myself again that I didn't know him, I had to not categorize him with Luna and her father for whatever reason my mind had wanted to. I guessed it was to make me feel more comfortable with the new, the unknown; making it more recognizable and safe feeling.

"For what gain?" Like Slytherin's there had to be some sort of catch, right? They never did anything without reason or good cause.

He glanced at me, the both of us stopping on the staircase as it moved. "You're interesting. I think it would be very worthwhile to try and be a friend of yours."

I looked down at the steps. Worthwhile? If one wanted to deal with someone emotionally and mentally unstable that could randomly have a breakdown, sure, that seemed pretty worthwhile. I sighed and started walking again when the staircase stopped moving.

If he sensed my hesitation, he didn't show it. "Since we don't have any sort of similar schedule nor have similar friends, maybe we can meet up in the library and work on our assignments sometimes. Talk, work, get to know each other. It may be a nice change of pace."

He didn't seem pressing about it, just…well, I wasn't sure. It was unlike my usual interactions with people, who seemed to nag me or nearly beg for my time, attention, or acknowledgement. The only problem about the whole thing would be to get my friends to leave me alone for a few hours; not likely to happen, since they were still constantly worried over me.

I agreed anyway. Halloween eve was when we were supposed to meet. Surely I could figure something out. Why had I agreed anyways? It was going to be tense and awkward, I'd likely be trying not to slip away into the past or have a mild breakdown due to something a bit from my work brought up in my mind.

...

There was a minor argument when I got back to the commonroom about where I had run off too and about how worried Hermione was. Halfway through her yelling, Ron left for our dorm without being noticed. I was about to leave mid-lecture as well until Ginny sat on the arm of the chair I was in, which attracted Hermione's attention to look at me again, rather then pace around. It continued for I don't know how long, and ended with an awkward hug and Hermione's hair getting into my mouth.

I took my dreamless sleep potion as per usual and went to bed. I felt Ron watching me again which was a bit unnerving. I was certain he was still upset with me for my behavior, but he still refused to let me close the curtains around my bed at night.

...

There was the usual gossip and irritating chatter at breakfast with the coming of the Daily Prophet again. While whatever the topic was looked like it worried Hermione, it apparently wasn't too important because she didn't try to shove it in my face. Malfoy had returned to his spot, glaring at me as hard as he could, probably willing me to spontaneously light aflame, and meeting my eyes several times which he typically didn't do.

Too concentrated on trying to stave off a headache, I hadn't noticed an unfamiliar owl landing in front of me until Ron nudged me and I came back to my own table rather then the Slytherin's hoping Malfoy would choke on some of his food.

"Who do you think it's from?"

"Well, obviously, we won't know that until he's opened his letter, Ronald."

"Yeah, yeah. Mate, get on with it, will ya?"

I stared at the owl a moment, trying to think if I'd seen it before. It was a gorgeous bird, I think an eagle owl, though unfamiliar. Getting impatient, it clicked it's beak at me which prompted me into action, removing the letter from its leg. It took off as I unrolled the letter.

"So? It's not a questionnaire or anything is it?"

"Don't be stupid. I made sure Harry's mail flow was monitored, remember?"

"Oh shut it, 'Mione, I forgot."

I stared at it for a long time, having some difficulty reading the writing. I read it over two more times to be sure of what I had read then I looked up and between Ron and Hermione, both looking at me curiously.

"It's Teddy."

"Goodness, he's not sick or something is he?"

"No, no…I guess Andromeda just wanted to write me, tell me how he's doing." It was strange. The first letter I had ever gotten from her, even after the funeral. While I was glad to have some word about him, why then not sooner?

Hermione smiled. "That's sweet of her."

"She's probably just lonely."

"Ronald!"

"What?"

"That's rude—"

Before I had to listen to another argument, I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and made my way out of the Great Hall to head to Charms early for once. I felt the familiar stares I always did whenever I went anywhere, accompanied with those stares, however, was an almost poisonous glare. I almost smiled until I realized I _missed_ that feeling. I didn't bloody miss the git. I just missed being treated normal, and him glaring at me was what was normal.

...

The library had also grown to be a place I disliked. Although it was magnificently large and filled with things beyond my wildest dreams, making me feel like I'd just been reintroduced to the world of magic all over again, the horrid memories I had and my imagining any of these books being destroyed made it a terrible place to be. Slipping back to the hours spent in here trying to find information about Nicholas Flamel or the Chamber of Secrets, sneaking into the restricted section more then several times, researching before the second task of the Triwizard tournament. I almost wanted to slam my head against the table to see if it would make it all stop.

A soft pat on the back, jerked me out from my darkly clouded mind. I heard a rustling of robes and papers before seeing him sit down right in front of me.

"You aren't going to be sick are you? You look as pale as the Grey Lady." Oh, no, I knew meeting with him was a bad idea. Already my mind was reeling back to that night, a mad dash through the castle to find the lost diadem, speaking with Helena—

"Potter, really, are you okay?"

Trying hard to push it back, I choked out, "I'm fine."

He didn't push it any further, unlike what I thought he would do. Again, I had to remind myself I didn't know him or how he acted or anything except for his name. Jake or something; no, wait, Brian was his first name, I think. Shit.

He opened his Potions textbook, reminding me of the Half-Blood Prince's—no, Snape's copy, pulling his essay out from a marked page. It occurred to me I still didn't know what year he was in. I cleared my throat.

"Er—so, this whole getting to know me thing. Well, I know nothing about you except you want to be a medi-wizard…" Where was I even going with that? This was going to be a disaster.

He looked up at me, smiling a little bit, "You've gotten more talkative since I've last seen you; granted that was only one time." He looked back down to his bag, pulling out a quill and ink well, setting it on the table above his parchment, giving a small shrug.

He glanced up at me; I guess to see if I was going to reply. When I didn't, he continued, "So, you want to know a bit about me?" He glanced up at me again.

I nodded. "Well, what do you want to know?" he flipped through a few pages of the book.

Where would I even begin? Why did he even want to talk to me? No, he already answered that, although vaguely. 'It would be worthwhile.' Sure. Hmm, maybe his name again, just to be sure? His age? His family perhaps? His place in the war? Apparently, I took too long to ask, so he just started talking.

"I suppose it would be easiest to start with the basics, yeah?" Again, I nodded.

Thinking and most probably reading a passage from that damn book, which how he could stay concentrated on at the moment, I had no clue, he passed the feather end of the quill over his lips. He then lowered it and looked back up at me.

"Well, I'm in seventh year, I've a muggle mother, and…I have a cat? If that even matters." He smiled, bringing the quill back to his mouth.

I looked down at the table, a question popping into my mind. "Do you like Quidditch?"

"I've some friends that are on the team, so I know a bit about it, but not a huge fan." He looked back down to his book, opening the stopper to the ink well, and continuing with his essay. I looked at the notebook sitting in front of me, only filled with notes passed back and forth with Ron. Suddenly, Riddle's diary sprung to mind.

"You're girlfriend, Ginevra, is really good from what I've seen her play."

"Just Ginny, she'd probably hex you if she heard you call her Ginevra. And, uhm…she's not my girlfriend." I remembered her laying nearly dead in the Chamber, the basilisk...

"Oh, sorry, I just heard that—"

"We broke up a while back, actually."

"Again, I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

He nodded, continuing with his work, both of us lapsing into, at least on my side that with was tense, silence. While I felt awkward not doing any work while he scratched away at his parchment, it wasn't exactly unpleasant.

He looked up briefly. "What do you know about—?"

"If it's anything to do with potions I have absolutely no clue."

He smiled again. "When you do talk, you've got a knack for interrupting, don't you?"

I felt myself rolling my eyes at him, mildly bothered by his observation. No one usually pointed out when I did it, so a long time ago I stopped caring or wondering whether it bothered them or not.

Overall, I supposed it wasn't as much of a nightmare as I expected, or hoped, whichever. His nearly constant talking prevented my many lapses into the past when my mind drifted, though it nearly caused a few as well. We walked back to the staircase together, planning to meet a few days later.

...

It was soon made habit to go from Hermione's quarters in the evenings, straight to the library, where our next few meetings went much the same. Admittedly, I was feeling a little more relaxed all together. With a bit of a _'change of pace'_ and a different sort of interaction then I was used to, it was interesting. Though, when thinking back on it as I laid in bed, waiting for the dreamless sleep potion to take effect, I almost could say I felt guilty for turning my back on my best friends that were trying so hard to help but with no avail. Maybe I just needed a bit of space, which I had not had much of since arriving at the Burrow and then at school. Like the few times in Hermione's, it was nice to just listen to the one sided conversation with no prying or judging. It was like getting lost amongst the conversation at the dinner table in the Burrow. I liked feeling as if I wasn't quite so important to the conversation, or perhaps not so important in general.I drifted off to sleep thinking of the letter Andromeda sent me, feeling Ron watching me again.

I was filled with the empty darkness of dreamless sleep I was becoming accustomed to.


End file.
